One Good Thing
by CUIntheair
Summary: One-Shot. Daryl wants to pick up everyone's spirits. He only knows one way how. A little cutesy, but heck, don't we get enough blood and guts on the show?


"One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain." Bob Marley

"Music washes away from the soul, the dust of everyday life." Berthold Auerbach

* * *

It was their second night sleeping in the prison, and everyone just seemed tired. The joy of finally finding a safe haven was fast fading into the realization of exactly how long they'd been running. Morale may have been running high, but everyone was tired all the way to their souls. Daryl wanted to help. He couldn't fix the tired, or the hungry, or any other physical needs the others had, but he thought he might just have a way to put their minds at ease, if only for a few minutes.

TYTYT

Her name had been Billie Pope, and she was the closest neighbor the Dixons had when they moved out of town after their house fire. She was old enough to be Daryl's grandmother, and her house was over a mile's walk through the woods, but both Dixon boys would visit her at least once a week. Merle would go for the free home-cooked meals, and Daryl would go... well he'd go because she was the single nicest lady he'd ever met.

She was the one who'd taught them how to play. She had pulled out the old Alvarez one day, laughing about her arthritis and telling them they could have it with only one condition: that they shared. The six-string was decades old, the lacquer finish starting to crack, but it was a thing of beauty. It had a soft, mellow tone that only good quality and old age could bring to a guitar. Both boys loved it.

Merle learned much faster than Daryl, claiming that a guitar would be a good way to impress girls. Miss Billie had laughed at that, telling him it was truer than he thought. She instructed them on how to hold it, position their hands, strum the chords. Merle wanted to learn bluegrass music, Daryl didn't care what he learned. He'd never found much point to music, sitting and listening and accomplishing nothing didn't make sense to him, even as a child. But he certainly enjoyed _playing_ that guitar.

Within a few months, Merle was playing well enough to be a real musician. He had true talent, and there was something graceful about the way his hands would just glide across the instrument. Daryl was jealous. No matter how hard he practiced, his playing never held the same magic as Merle's.

The years passed and Daryl would still visit Miss Billie, she always asked him to play for her, and he did. He couldn't read a note of music, her eyesight and handwriting had been too bad to teach him that part, but he could listen to the radio and pick up the chords to most songs. She would ask him for specific ones, always country songs, and he knew her favorites by heart. She was like family to him, so he'd even sing the words, his rough voice hardly ever on key.

TYTYT

That was what Daryl thought about when Beth and Maggie had sung the other day. His quiet afternoons with Merle and Miss Billie and music. He looked around the cell block and called Glenn to him, knowing that going outside alone was frowned on, and the young man hadn't looked busy.

"What's up?" Glenn asked, looking tired and a little worried. Daryl wasn't one for idle chatter, so he'd assumed something was wrong.

"I'm goin' out to the cars." Daryl spoke softly, his voice gravel against his own ears.

"For what?" Glenn asked, not unkindly. Daryl just gave him a pointed stare. Glenn raised an eyebrow, "You need backup?" he asked, his interest now piqued. Daryl wasn't usually vague, so he had an idea of what this was about.

Daryl simply nodded in reply and they went out to the cars. Glenn knew which one it would be: the green one, right there in the trunk. Daryl pulled out the guitar case as lovingly as he'd put it in there two weeks ago. They had been on a supply run through Senoia. They didn't know where he'd gotten it, but Daryl had just shown up with it. He wouldn't talk about it, and hadn't even played the thing yet. Glenn wondered if Daryl even knew how.

They got back inside the cell block and Daryl went right to his perch. He opened the case and took the Alvarez out. It was new and shiny but not nearly as lovely as Miss Billie's had been. After she had died, Merle had found out it was worth some serious money and he'd sold it to help fix up his motorcycle. Daryl hadn't held a guitar since, but when he'd seen this Alvarez he couldn't stop himself. He sat in his perch, tuning it. He knew full well that the others were sneaking glances at him.

It was Beth and Maggie that had convinced him, though they didn't know it. Once the guitar was tuned he went to the bottom of the steps that lead to his perch, right in the middle of the cell block, and started to play. It had been Miss Billie's newest favorite song, about a month before she died in her sleep. Daryl still remembered every note, every word. He had thought of it as silly, but it brought her so much happiness.

He'd always thought of it as something specific to her, an old lady who only had music to keep her company. But Beth and Maggie had shown him that it was for everyone. The way people's faces lit up when Beth started singing, and then the smiles and sense of peace even after the song ended. Music was good for the soul, and Daryl felt like it was something the group needed. So he played, and he sang.  
His playing was a little shaky at first, and his voice wasn't great, but as the song echoed around the concrete walls it was beautiful in it's simplicity. It made everyone smile as they bunched around the unusual display, Daryl just closed his eyes, pretending he was still playing it for Miss Billie. Her favorite song for anyone that pissed her off.

"Let the good Lord do his job,  
and you just pray for them...  
I pray your brakes go out runnin' down a hill." Carol covered her mouth to stifle her surprised giggle. Herschel shook his head slowly and smiled.

"I pray a flowerpot falls from a windowsill, and knocks you in the head like I'd like to." Daryl's voice was surprisingly suited to the song, and he could feel their smiles and laughter. One of the girls had joined in, remembering the song from the radio.

"I pray your birthday comes and nobody calls,  
I pray you're flying high, when your engine stalls  
I pray all your dreams, never come true.  
Just know wherever you are, honey, I pray for you."

Everyone sat at the foot of the steps in a circle, singing along as they learned the chorus. The laughter built as the song went on. It was the happiest their little group had ever been, and even though all of the attention made Daryl nervous, he felt like he was helping the others.

When the song ended, everyone clapped, and Daryl just waved it off. They asked if he knew any more, and Beth suggested an old church song. Daryl played and she sang, and it went on for almost an hour like that, people throwing out suggestions and begging for more. The sound reverberated against the walls, but they had locked bars and long hallways between them and any threat. They were safe and sheltered and happy.

And Daryl knew what he's done was just as important as clean clothes and a good night's rest. He smiled to himself, looking up to the stars peeking through the barred windows, and he thanked Miss Billie.


End file.
